


The Wind Stirring

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Kaze to Ki no Uta | Song of Wind and Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert reflects on Serge, and muses on why he is the way he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wind Stirring

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sara Jaye

 

 

Title: The Wind Stirring  
Fandom: Kaze to Ki no Uta (OVA and manga)   
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Characters and situations are not mine.

Note: This is the first time I've really tried to write a fic in the second   
person. I hope it turned out all right.

And I hope you like it, Sara Jaye.

Summary: Gilbert reflects on Serge, and muses on why he is the way he   
is.

*****

I remember the first time you looked at me. You stood uneasy, sweat   
on your brow, eyes clouded with exhaustion and incomprehension. You   
gave me only the briefest glance, a glance that conveyed surprise and   
wonder. I knew you would be easy. You fell into my arms that day just   
as readily as you would fall into my trap.

You were the ultimate hypocrite. You told me I was wrong, that I   
should be ashamed...that I should do what I did behind closed doors,   
away from where sweet little innocents like you could see. You feigned   
contempt and disgust, even as you longed for me. You pretended to   
befriend me, even as you contemplated the temptation I presented. You   
tried to be cold, but you burned for me. You treated me like a child, a   
child who would take leave of his sinful ways if only he were scolded   
and informed that he was wrong.

I was never a child. I was only a body, a vessel, and I knew nothing but   
the service I provided. I was the space into which the passions of men   
were poured. I was a tool, a toy, passed amongst them as a mere   
amusement, a trinket. Fifteen minutes of gasping, aching, fleshly   
fulfillment. And I loved it. Kisses and caresses became breath and   
blood; two bodies, separated only by decaying flesh, sinking into one   
another in a moment of white heat, bone and hair and brain meshing   
together.

I longed for---I lived for---violence. I was an unfeeling carcass,   
requiring the sustenance of another's living body. I did not understand   
anything except the intrepid flow of blood, the clean snap of a breaking   
bone, and the sweet sensation of tearing skin. I felt nothing but need. I   
had never felt anything but need.

You prided yourself on how you "understood" me, how you had a rare   
insight into my soul. You were so good at fooling yourself. I had no   
soul, and I felt no humiliation. Your sympathies were wasted on me.   
You could not imagine yourself in my place, so you felt that I must be   
devastated as you were. To protect yourself, you tried to protect me.   
My knight in shining, blackened armor. You reached out into the fire,   
knowing that it would make you a hero. In my eyes, you were a   
coward.

You paled, and sighed, and wilted when I kissed you. When I took you   
in my arms, I took you in my arms---I knew you would never willingly   
embrace me back. I wanted to betray you, the way you betrayed me   
with every glance, every word. I wanted to violate you, the way your   
sanction sought to violate me. I wanted to break you, the way he would   
have broken me. That sweet, sweet sound of flesh breaking open, of   
wounds flowing free...my Augu.

You accepted your punishment more gracefully than I could ever have   
imagined. You sank into me and let me sink into you; I tarnished you,   
and you hardly flinched. You worried and prodded, stroked my   
forehead and hummed to yourself, setting yourself at ease. You let me   
steal the last of you and stood still, thinking you were strong, that you   
were showing yourself as the better man. But all you did was fall victim   
to me, just as I'd always known you would.

I was a born victim, a transgressor of the natural order, a biological   
phenomenon. Only humans were capable of this sin. When they pushed   
me down, when they grabbed and groped and clumsily roved over me,   
I felt no humiliation; only purpose.

You had no concept of purpose. You thought you had found your   
meaning, to break me free of sin and show me to the light. You thought   
that was your path. But you merely subjugated to my will. You thought   
you would be the breeze that lifted me; instead, I became the wind that   
stirred your branches, stripping you bare. You reached out willingly,   
placed your hand in the flames, and watched calmly as you burned   
away.

You were a born victim too. You knew nothing of freedom. You were   
a clown, poised to make everyone laugh and jump. You had nothing of   
yourself. You thought I was an empty shell, but I was far more human   
than you ever were. Your ideals became you.

Those were the days of our youth, the tumult of childhood. You thought   
only of pleasing others. You wanted to become your father. I wanted to   
become _him_ , to be with him, to be him. I had no father, no   
mother, no earthly existence save for pain. The only wonder I knew   
was the rip of claws against my chest, tearing through the emptiness.   
You saw my pain and you thought you could take it into yourself; you   
thought you could take away from me the only joy of my life. I had to   
hurt you for that, for your arrogance and your idiocy. You saw the   
apathy of me and knew it mirrored your true self, and you tried in vain   
to become what you saw in me.

I begged him, time and again, to kill me. He said I was about to achieve   
perfection, that with the right delicate balance of excruciating pleasure   
and delirious pain I would bloom, cultivated just as he had envisioned   
me. I was his project, his experiment, and failure was the same as   
pleasing him. Someday, he said, I would become the ultimate, the   
singular perfect creation of the world, the Galatea to his Pygmalion. And   
on that day, he would finally be mine, just as I was his.

Some part of you must have known, because some part of you was   
jealous. You wanted me to be your creation; you had worked for it,   
you thought. You grasped and searched for the strings that could bind   
me to you, and to your credit, you almost found them. But in the end,   
you lost.

And I consumed you. Day by day, hour by hour...I consumed you.   
You looked at me with your big, watery eyes and you begged me to tell   
you why, but deep down, you knew the truth.

You and I were both born to die.

*****

THE END

 

 

 


End file.
